Memories
by unknownbyself
Summary: Bittersweet memories are the best kind...


_A bittersweet memory is the best kind..._

A Zootopia oneshot dedicated to my grandfather.

Nick Wilde looked at himself in the mirror. No matter how much time had passed, nothing would . An accident with a truck. She had survived that, but her wounds had gotten infected. After that, it had only taken a few months for his mother to languish, then some time in late autumn she quietly passed away in her sleep.

She had only been a shell of her former self; unable to eat much, and what little was eaten was quickly vomited back up. Juliet Wilde was very emaciated at her death, more a bundle of bone and fur than the vixen that had raised him.

He hated himself for having been away back then. She hadn't been alone of course; his siblings and countless nieces and nephews had been there too, but he still thinks that as her son, he should've been there. Maybe he could've made things better, maybe not.

Sighing, he pulled the Windsor knot of his tie upwards. A black silk tie to contrast with the stainless white shirt he was wearing. His pressed black jacket lay on the bed behind him, neatly ironed and waiting for him to slip it on.

The first three weeks after hearing the news, it was as if Slick Nick had died overnight. He smiled rarely and laughed never, and his apartment, usually alive with the smiles and music of many mammals, was as silent as the grave. He hid from the world, peeking out only when necessary and causing Finnick no end of worry.

A ghost of a smile crossed his muzzle when he thought of the little fox. Fin had lost his own mother to old age roughly four years before, and his father had been dead for ten years. Illness. The tiny fox rarely talked about it, but Nick knew that losing them both had hurt him badly. Finnick was the one who comforted him when he cried, nursed him back to health when Nick was wasting away, not eating.

"You'd better eat up, Nicky," he'd say. "I think your mom'd be really pissed if you joined her so soon. Cryin' and cursin' won't bring her back. All we can do is remember her during her best years. Keep those memories with ya, Nick, and she'll never really leave."

It was advice he hadn't taken to heart until his mother's funeral. He couldn't be there of course, but his relatives sent him photos of the service as well as the grave itself. A humble thing, much like the vixen herself had been. The photos had been hard to look at, the pain was still too fresh. His father, normally so serene and cheerful, now solemn and lonely, looking to all the world like a lost lamb.

He knew his father would recover, given time. All of his siblings and nieces and nephews and offspring and grandoffspring (Nick's sister was expecting) would serve as his support. Yet he would still be lonely. His mate, his life, gone. Just like that.

Nick's last contact with his father had looked hopeful, however. The aged tod smiled weakly and told his son that he was doing okay. "I still miss her, son. I don't think I'll ever stop. But she's always here, kiddo, as long as we never forget her."

It was still hard to watch, but Nick knew his father refused to give up, and that he'd see the old fox back to his old self soon enough. Nick himself was another matter.

He still found himself inconsolable on each anniversary of the day she passed.

One year, the second one after her death, Nick had been looking at a photo of himself and his mother. In the photo, a young tod was in the Junior Ranger Scout uniform his mother had tirelessly worked to obtain for him. Tears flowed, unbidden, as they always did.

When a small paw tapped him on the shoulder, he barely noticed. The bed groaned weakly and the haggard, bleary face of his best friend greeted him, but he barely registered it.

Neither fox said anything for a good long while. Nick had long since lost count of how long it had been, but he estimated it must have been hours. Finally, Finnick opened his mouth and said something he'd never forget.

" Those memories of your mom, those are the best kind. They remind ya that she's gone, yeah, but you'll aways remember the good times too. Never forget 'em Nicky. She still lives in your memories."

Nick remembered that those were the only words the fennec said to him that whole day. What had been the quiet of a mausoleum had been replaced by a comforting silence.

 _Bittersweet memories are the best kind..._

He repeated that mantra to himself, day in and day out. When he graduated from the Police Academy, his father gave him a proud smile. He smiled back, knowing his mother would be proud of him also.

And now here he was, six years later. Donning his Sunday best. He was going to visit her; it would be the third time, and the sixth year, since her death.

A pair of black-tipped ears poked through his bedroom door. Nick smiled at his fiancé. Judy had gone with a simple black dress and minimal jewelry. Simple and dignified. It was, after all, the first time she was going to meet his mother, and Judy Hopps would be damned if she didn't make a good first impression. "You ready yet, Slick? Fin's getting impatient."

Nick chuckled, knowing his friend's short temper. "Yeah, I'm ready. Let's go, Carrots."

 **A short while later...**

Nick and company stood in front of a simple headstone. It was slightly weather-beaten, but not much. All the stone had was her name and the years she lived. Somehow, he thought she'd approve. She was a simple vixen, giving her all for her kits and keeping nothing for herself.

It was a long time before anyone said anything. Finally, Nick spoke. "Hiya mom, sorry I couldn't come earlier. I want to introduce you to someone..."

It was all introductions, smiles, tears, and stories after that. By nightfall, the trio finally decided to return home.

The ride home was silent, as it always was. But this time, with his fiancé and best friend at his side, he could remember her with a smile.

Bittersweet memories _were_ the best kind, after all.

 **Author's Note: Well, that's that. This story is dedicated to the memory of my grandfather, who passed away earlier this month. I love you, abuelito, and I miss you. Peace and thank you to everyone who took the time to read this. Happy New Year!**


End file.
